


As Ice

by siberianchan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: And I was so thrilled to write for her!, Family, Gen, harlequinade13, more characters will be added as they appear - Freeform, prompt by, she won my entry on the YOI charity event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siberianchan/pseuds/siberianchan
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is okay with his life. He has work, he has people to annoy him, he has his grandfather, he doesn't need anything. Certainly not contact to his mother.Just that his mother sees things slightly differently.Written for Halrequinade13.





	1. As Ice as brittle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harlequinade13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harlequinade13/gifts).



> So, a while ago I put in my name at a tumblr charity auction and I got bid on. So here I am. Harley asked for something either Mila/Sara or focussed on Yura and his mother. I did the latter, because a) boy do I have opinions about this woman and b) someting Milara is coming up anyways. 
> 
> So... Harley, I hope you like your present.

It had been a remarkably good day today. Practise had been exhausting, but satisfying and Yakov had yelled remarkably little, neither at Yuri nor at anyone else, which was unusual but not unexpected, considering several factors that had had a positive impact on today’s experience as well.

First, this Grand Prix would be the last ever Yuri would compete in as a junior and while he already knew he would just kill it, he wanted to kill it with a vengeance. After all, Viktor had a bargain with him and Yuri would have been extraordinarily stupid not to hold up his end of it.

Second, Mila had left him alone today, which was almost heaven to him.

And of course, he had killed it today, going through his routine with ease and then, when he had practised, he had landed several quads like a pro. Great. It had been a great day.

Great days usually were not great at all. Yuri had all too often experienced that great days ended in a huge, steaming pile of shit. So far there had been no hints of how this great day would tear itself down.

Yuri managed to get through the last moments of training today without tripping or falling. He managed to shower without slipping out and breaking his neck and he got dressed without having to deal with too much locker room talk from either Viktor or Georgi, who were both annoying in very different ways.

And then his phone rang. Yuri had to admit that he flinched a lot more than he would usually have done.

As he took his phone, he recognised dedushka’s number. That was strange. Dedushka knew Yuri’s schedule and only ever called in the evening when Yuri was done with training and school and had (hopefully) finished his homework.

Yuri’s fingers shook just a little when he took on the call and put the phone to his ear. “Gramps, hey! You’re early!” he chirped into the phone in the voice that was only for dedushka, the voice of a teenaged grandchild without a worry on the world.

“Yes, I know, I am sorry,” Nikolai Plisetsky sighed, “Yuroshka, how are you? I don’t want to disturb you or inconvenience you or anything, but-”

“You’re never disturbing me,” Yuri declared, “or inconvenience me.” He furrowed his brow, not that dedushka could see it on the other end of the phone. “What’s the matter?”

“I would have called you earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt your training.”

“It’s alright, I’m done for today,” Yuri deflected, as he shrugged on his jacket and grabbed his bag. “What’s the matter?” he asked as he walked through the corridors of the Sports Champions Club. It was a nice evening in late September, the air heavy with that weird mixture of residue summer heat and the first taste of cool, crisp autumn air. The sun was just about ready to set and the sky behind the windows gleamed in gold.

Yuri took a deep breath.

“Well,” dedushka sighed, “your mother showed up this morning for a short visit. She left around noon to take a flight to St. Petersburg.”

Yuri’s steps died down and he stared at one of the white-washed, blank walls. “Oh. What.” It took him a moment to phrase an actual response. “Well. What does she want?”

“I suppose she wants to visit you”, dedushka said.

Visit him. Yuri found the sheer notion laughable. “Well,” he said again.

“How are you? How was your day?” dedushka asked.

His day had been fine. It had been fine. Well, until that bomb had dropped, but Yuri had been half-expected something like this anyway. And it was still fine, yes. It was fine, really fine. All he had to do was get home and not leave the house, not answer the door, not do anything at all. This was a sound plan. It was his go-to plan to avoid socialising more than strictly necessary, which was always favourable in his opinion, especially since both Mila and Elena had lately declared him their new favourite chew toy. Yes, if he just stayed inside, he was safe from any and every woman in the world.

“I am-” He stepped out of the building to see her standing at the foot of the stairway, wrapped in a thick woollen cape lined with spotted fur. On anyone else it would have looked amazing. Hell, Yuri wanted that cape right away. But it was on her and that made it awful.

Not even the fact that Nataliya Plisetskaya looked as if someone had taken a mirror image and dressed it up in different clothes than Yuri’s helped. If anything, it made it worse.

God. She was slender and willowy just like Yuri was now, like he would not be for much longer and she stood with all the pose and grace of a trained dancer.

“Grandpa, I… I will call you back when I am home, alright”, he said and heard dedushka suck in a breath.

“Oh no.”

“It’s alright. As I said, I’ll call you back.”

“Do that, Yuroshka, yes. Are you alright?”

“Gotta be. Hear you in a bit.” He removed the phone from his ear and pressed the little red dot to end the call. Then he breathed in. And out. And in. and out. And then walked down the stairs, down and down and down until he was on the same level as Nataliya. Then he passed her and walked on without a word.

From the corner of his eye he could see her turn around on the toe tips of her left foot. It was impressive considering her stiletto heels and it spoke of her training. And her physique was the only thing Yuri had ever gotten from her and he hated it, he hated it almost as much as the fact that he likely wouldn’t even get to keep it into adulthood and everything he had learned and trained and worked for would be lost and he would have to start from scratch again and it made him so mad, so utterly, gut-wrenchingly mad that he managed to be quiet and calm, to walk past her with even, slow steps because anything else would have been running away, but he was a man. He did not run away, never.

“Yuri!”

Once again, his steps died down and he paused and breathed out.

Behind him he heard hurried, high-heel-clicking steps. Then Nataliya was at his side. “Hello,” she said, as if greeting a loose acquaintance (because really, what else were they?). “Long time no see.”

And whose fucking fault was that, Yuri wanted to yell. He didn’t.

“You look good,” Nataliya said. “Are you done with training today?”

Obviously. He was in street clothes, not drenched in sweat anymore and his skates hung over his shoulder. He shrugged. “Guess so.”

Nataliya’s face lightened up and she clapped into her hands. “Wonderful! You haven’t eaten yet, have you?!”

When the fuck was he supposed to have eaten?! Had this woman even the slightest idea how his day-to-day routine went?

Alright. Dumb, fucking question.

“No,” he thus answered, because he was an idiot.

“Oh, perfect!” Again, Nataliya smiled. “I have a reservation at my hotel’s restaurant at seven! Come, come, I think we should catch up, it’s been too long!”

“Wha-”

But he already was grabbed and pulled and only a moment later Nataliya had put him in a cab and herself at his side. “Bolshaya Morskaya 39,” she twittered and chirped towards the cab driver, “Hotel Angleterre! Thank you!”

Afterwards, however, she was remarkably quiet for someone who was so adamant about catching on with him. She was smiling, though.

The cab made a round around the Leningrad memorial obelisk before it came to a stop in front of the large, rose-cream tinted building.

Nataliya chirped another “Thank you!”, threw a few money bills at the driver and pulled Yuri out of the car and before he could say anything, she had already dragged him through the glass door and then through the high-roofed, well-lit, elegantly furnished lobby and towards the restaurant.

At the entrance behind a little reception desk a liveried man with tidily slicked back hair greeted them with a polite “Do you have a reservation?” for Nataliya (who looked very much in place) and a long, hard stare for Yuri (who looked very much out of place.)

“Yes, I have. Plisetskaya, Nataliya and company. Which would be this fine young specimen.”

The receptionist seized up Yuri once more and Yuri desperately wanted to run.

The receptionist leaved through an almost comically large, leather bound reception book and then, finally, nodded. “Your coats please?”

Yuri handed over his jacket and his skates and was actually somewhat glad that he had decided on black jeans and a black turtleneck today. That at the very least didn’t stick out too much here, although it was still notable.

He forced himself to straighten his back as he followed the receptionist and Nataliya like an obedient little dog to a table and sat down as the menu was handed to them.

Nataliya ordered wine, something that sounded expensive, disgusting and far more alcoholic than an active athlete should drink.

Yuri decided to indulge himself with a coke.

“And for food...” Nataliya leafed through the menu. “Well, the gratin looks very nice. Number 502. The pasta section.”

Yuri took a look. The gratin was one of the dishes that came with a picture and Yuri could almost see the fat dripping out. He looked at the description – Edamer cheese, a heavy and very spicy bechamel sauce (the combination of cinnamon and cloves sounded nice, admittedly) and bacon, bacon, bacon. Vegetables were mentioned as the last ingredient.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s delicious, I had it a while ago when I was here the last time.”

When had she been in St. Petersburg before, Yuri wanted to ask, and why hadn’t she visited him then? But then again, he didn’t want to know, right, he didn’t.

Just that he did want to know. When had she been here? And for her visit now, was she currently without an engagement, was she about to get a new one or was she taking time off? He wanted to know, but – no way he would ask. “Can’t do that, I have to mind my diet.”

“Oh please, once cheat day! You’re a growing boy, you need to eat!”

“First of all, I’m a professional athlete with a coach who’ll rip my head off if I’m not in top shape for a competition,” Yuri answered and leaved over to the fish. He at last decided on trout on a bed of oranges, young potatoes and vegetables. Sounded good enough.

The waiter came with their drinks and took their order. Nataliya went ahead with her gratin, so apparently she was really not engaged on any stage right now?

Yuri took a sip of his cola. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, nothing special. I just wrapped up my last engagement at the Royal Opera in Stockholm,” she said, and Yuri felt that he was watched carefully for a reaction.

He decided to not give her one. “And?”

Nataliya’s smile flickered a little. “And… and well.” It went back on. “I decided it was time to visit my family.”

“Uh-hu,” Yuri made and put the glass down. Now his hands were empty and he found himself reaching for the linen napkin, running his fingers over it and digging them into its folds, before folding over a corner.

“Yuri,” Nataliya said, “where are your manners?”

Same place as his good mood, he wanted to reply.

But he didn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t. Instead he swallowed, straightened his back again and folded his hands in front of him, if only to keep them from twitching and moving and grabbing. “So.”

“Yes. I went to see papa first, but you know how depressing it can be to be with him, so I stayed for two hours or so before grabbing a flight here. I could even book my hotel while I was still in the air. Modern technology is wonderful, isn’t it? Moscow is so boring, though.”

What a leap of thought. Yuri had to marvel at it.

“Too provincial. One could think that as our glorious Russian capital it would have more to offer, but no, instead I am free to feel like I’m stuck in Dresden – you’ve ever been to Dresden, Yura? No? Nevermind, you haven’t missed much. The city is gorgeous to look at, they did a nice job cleaning up the rubble. But it’s so quiet and boring! Moscow is the same. I like St. Petersburg a lot better, at least there’s stuff to do here.” She took a sip of her wine and then another.

“Oh,” Yuri remarked, because what else could he say to that?

“How is your sport going?” she asked. “You’re still figure skating, right?”

“Obviously,” Yuri said. “It’s alright. In a week we’re out for Skate America.”

“Oh.” Nataliya tried to sound somewhat interested but failed due to her studying the wine menu. “What’s that?”

“An international skating competition,” Yuri sighed. “Part of the Grand Prix series. The Final event is in Fukuoka this year.”

“Huh. I’ve never seen it on TV. I mean, I try to catch it when I have the time, but I always miss it,” Nataliya said without taking her eyes from the wine menu.

Yuri almost believed her.

“Oh my!” Nataliya suddenly exclaimed, “would you look at that!”

“If you tell me what _that_ is I might,” Yuri remarked dryly.

“They serve my favourite again, a red Dornfelder from a Meissen vineyard,” Nataliya chirped and cocked her head in delight. “It’s delicious, you will love i - you should try it!”

“What- no, I can’t!”

Nataliya paused and put a finger to her lips in a fashion that galled Yuri more than it should have. “What? Why would you?”

“First off, it’s illegal,” Yuri snapped.

“I’m your mother, I doubt they can deny me to get my son something nice to drink?”

“They can, and they will,” Yuri remarked, “that is if they have any sense. I suppose they do.”

“Oh well, I’ll order a pitcher for me and pour you some then,” Nataliya declared.

Yuri wondered whether she wanted to be arrested for encouraging underage drinking. Not his business, but still.

 

He didn’t say that he was on a diet. That hadn’t impressed her the first time he had mentioned it, and no matter how much Yakov would kill him if he ate and drank without thinking, she wouldn’t be impressed. She also wouldn’t be impressed by the fact that Yakov would be right to kill him.

He also didn’t say that he’d rather be caught wearing a pink lace dress than drinking alcohol and causing damage to his public image and Yakov to yell at him. Nataliya probably wouldn’t care.

Yuri sighed. “You know, if you want someone to drink with you should’ve named me Viktor, might have helped.”

“Viktor. Viktor...” She tapped her finger against her chin. “Like Viktor Nikiforov, you mean?”

She knew Viktor but she, by her own admission, could not be bothered to catch Yuri’s competitions as they were aired. Why wasn’t Yuri surprised?

“He’s training here too?” she asked, clapping her hands.

“Yes. He is,” Yuri mumbled. Why was she so excited about him?! What about him, what…

Nataliya cocked her head towards him. “Say, how well do you know him?”

“Well. Yuri shrugged. “We’re on the ice together and he’s… he has a way of making himself noticeable.” Why couldn’t she ask him about him? Why couldn’t she care about what he was doing, why…

“Well,” she sighed, “He _is_ quite hot. Really hot, actually.” Again, she smiled. “I’d just _love_ to meet him! What do you think, can you introduce me to him?”

What little appetite Yuri had had left vaporised at her words. “What?”

“Well, he why not? He’s quite handsome, why wouldn’t I like to get to know him?”

Oh god. And oh god, they were so close in age, Viktor was only four years younger than Nataliya, they would probably get along and he would like her sparky, cheery nature and she would like his exuberance and in the end Yuri might be still a child, but even he could see that Viktor was incapable of taking care of himself and that he would start affairs just to feel anything as they made him miserable and and and- and why him? There were other people in Nataliya’s life that had more claim to her affection and time and love and…

The food came. The trout glistened on its bed of vegetables, its dead eyes milky.

Yuri’s stomach turned.

As the scent hit his nose, he had to force down a retch. He had to leave, he had to go, he had to step out, he…

“I got training tomorrow, quite early,” he said as he got up.

“What?” Nataliya blinked. “But-”

“Sorry,” Yuri said, because- because- because he didn’t want to be rude, he didn’t want Nataliya to think bad of him, he wanted-

“But we’ve just came.”

“And I just noticed that I have a really long way home and-”

“I can get a cab to get you home,” she offered after a moment’s pause.

“Thanks,” Yuri said and for a moment he almost wanted to stay. “Thanks, but…” His stomach lurched again and he shook his head. “Sorry.”

He turned around and began to walk away.

“Yuri!”

And stood still. “Yeah?”

What more? What more could say? Yuri waited. And listened, and…

_Tell me you’re proud of me,_ he asked silently, _just this once, say something nice, you’re proud of me, you’re happy to see me, whatever, say something a goddamn_ mother _would say!_

He could almost hear Nataliya struggling for words.

“Well,” she then said, “take care of your grandfather.”

Yuri’s throat was so tight it felt like on fire.

It wasn’t his responsibility, it should never have been his responsibility, but now it was, because this woman had made it so, because she wouldn’t be the responsible one and…

Yuri sighed.

And didn’t reply.

And left.

 


	2. As Ice as warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later she's back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam and chapter 2. Featuring Viktuuri

Yuri had to admit that Viktor’s diligence was admirable both in its depth and its endurance, and it was a nice change from the listless moping the man had been so prone to before.

In the morning he would train with them all under Yakov and suffer the usual fate of one of Yakov’s disciples – being yelled at, chewed out and sent to run through his routine when it wasn’t up to scratch before the old man’s sharp eye. He suffered it gladly, with a smile and his usual, light-hearted wit which sometimes caused Yakov to yell even more, but – and that was another change – he was more prone to actually listen to what he was told and implement it. Or maybe he had listened before but had always been a lot subtler about it.

In any case, Yuri liked that development.

In the afternoon Yuuri would drop by, warm up and then, as long as Viktor was still in Yakov’s grip, Yuuri liked to go through his routines by himself, practise quads, get as much precious training under his belt as he could without bothering anyone else.

When Yakov’s hours with the senior skaters were over, sometimes he handed out lunch boxes he had made because of course Yuuri Katsuki had to be that sort of boyfriend to Viktor who made sure he didn’t skip a meal during a long day of hard work and who also more often than not extended this care to some of the younger senior skaters – which admittedly mostly meant Yuri – and Yakov, who sometimes made a show of grumbling about how he didn’t need his skaters (or their spouses) to feed him before digging in.

“Octopus sausage!” Viktor cheered as he now took a peek into his lunch box for today. “My Yuuri spoils me!”

“I hope only with poultry,” Yakov grumbled.

“No,” Yuuri replied as he came on the ice and started a first warm-up round. “Why good chicken use when neighbours annoy.”

Yakov took a moment to puzzle his way through the jumbled Russian then he grinned. “Ha. Good.”

“Yes, isn’t he?” Viktor chirped. “Yuri, you really should start to look for a good husband too! The best one is already taken, I fear, but I am sure there are plenty of others for you to choose from! When _will_ you get on with it?”

Yuri made sure he was on the other side of the rink when he shot back, “Only when I’m as old and pathetic like you and need a nurse to lift my old bones out of bed!”

It had the desired effect of Viktor gasping dramatically and then rushing over to chase him over the ice, while Yuuri looked on and chuckled, several other skaters laughed and Yakov ran a hand over his face.

It was nice.

It was a Saturday. No school tomorrow, no need to get up ass-crankingly early, so Yuri decided to stick around a little, practise his own routines by himself for a little more, usually with some input from Viktor and Yuuri which was not only much valued but also yet another thing to joke about.

“Sure you wanna help me out so much?” he asked, “I mean, you two need any advantage you can get against me if you wanna get anywhere near the podium.”

Yuuri snorted, but focussed on the quad he had coming up, jumped and landed square on his ass.

“Focus!” Viktor sighed. “Yura, are you trying to be distracting?”

“No, no, my bad!” Yuuri said, getting up. “I found amusing idea Yurenka interfere with bet.” He moved again, went into the Ina Bauer, then moved to the Salchow and this time he landed it.

“Better, but the landing was wobbly,” Viktor said. “Let’s mix it up, you do every quad you have until you can land them firmly three times in a row.”

Yuuri sighed softly and then nodded before moving through the bit of his routine that came before the toe loop.

“Bet,” Yuri sighed. “Another one on top of that wedding thing?”

“That’s not a bet,” Viktor explained with a patient smile, “That’s – good, Yuuri, more like that!”

Yuuri grinned, but then focussed on his jumps again. Viktor certainly liked it; he beamed all over his face. “As I said, it’s not a bet, it’s what comes before marriage. You know, these things have to have a certain order, not that you can tell yet with your youthful innocence and inexperience.”

“Oh, please,” Yuri sighed. “Someone who ran halfway across the world before even knowing someone has no business telling me about the proper order of things.”

Viktor chuckled.

“So, what’s that bet thing about, then?”

“Oh, simple!” Yuuri said after he had landed on his ass again, gotten up and repeated the Axel, “whoever wins gold has to do the dishes for a week.”

“Is that your usual bet?” Yuri asked dryly. “No wonder you two are still not married.”

Viktor sighed. “Maybe, maybe, but I hate dishwashing as much as anybody else, and Yuuri seems to believe that the longer I win gold, the longer I will stay on the ice with him. Not that he is wrong, mind you.”

God. Yuri needed some fucking insulin. “What are you doing when I’m taking the gold?” he asked as if it was certain that he would – because it was certain, after all, at least for him.

Viktor tapped his finger against his lips in a fashion Yuri had always found irksome for some reason. “Well,” he then declared, “then we will go with silver.”

Oh god, Viktor Nikiforov was implementing logic. The wonders would never cease.

Yuri grinned. “Otabek is at the Four Continents, though, what if he takes the silver?” The idea made him positively giddy. With training, school, different time zones and Beka’s slight phobia against anything social media related it had been weeks since they had last talked and Yuri was looking forward to catch up with him in-between and after events. Viktor and Yuuri were good and all (he would never admit that to them) but it was still nice to have a friend closer to his age who wasn’t so easy to put off.

Viktor shot him a bright smile. “Then that fine young man is cordially invited to a visit in St. Petersburg and he is generously allowed to do our dishwashing for us.”

“Pff, yeah, dream on,” Yuri grinned and now went back to work on his routine while Viktor and Yuuri continued to work.

Then the training session ended and they headed back to the locker rooms.

“I think I can kiss my dish washing duty good bye, though,” Viktor chirped. “We’re honing in on a date and if we want this wedding to be a halfway decent affair-”

“As if anything about you is ever decent,” Yuri remarked dryly.

“- we need to start planning soon and we can’t do that before all the necessary prerequisites are fulfilled,” Viktor continued as if Yuri had never said anything at all.

“Because pressure work me always,” Yuuri remarked dryly and then corrected himself. “Because pressure always works on me.”

When they showered he said, “We’re making chicken curry tonight.”

Yuri nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

It hadn’t taken long for them to establish an almost familial day-to-day routine. After Lilia’s one-on-one care had ended and she had moved on to choreograph other skaters than just him aside of her ballet lessons for young, promising dancers, Yuri had moved out again and back into the dorms where he had lived before, but additionally he had begun to claim the guest room in Viktor’s and Yuuri’s new apartment as kind of, sort of, his (not that he would ever admit that) and usually spent a few evenings a week over when they weren’t having a date night or something. It was more enjoyable than Yuri would have ever thought, but then again, Yuuri had stopped adoringly fawning over Viktor a long time ago and Viktor’s own exuberance had been tempered by time, daily routine and perhaps also the security that this daily routine would not go away at the end of the season. It was a nice prospect to spend his evening in that fashion, yes, and he was looking forward to it. Good food, maybe a nice movie or a video game with Yuuri.

That was all he wanted, squabble and argue with them and have a goddamn good time. He wanted to have a nice evening and a nice life.

So why on earth did he see _her_ standing at the foot of the stairs, leaning against a lamp post like nobody’s business, looking up to him? Why? What the hell did she want?

Yuri squared his shoulders and walked on even as he heard Yuuri softly ask, “She waits for someone?”

Yes, she was and Yuri would be damned to play along and reward her for it. “Come on, I’m starving.”

They had walked a few steps past her when Yuri heard her turn on the high heel of her shoe and then her steps towards him. “Yuri!”

He froze and sadly neither Yuuri nor Viktor possessed the common sense to pull him along with them. Instead they stopped in their steps as well.

Yuuri looked at him from the side. “You know her?” he asked softly.

Yuri squared his shoulders again and walked on without answering.

“Hey,” Yuuri said, “now that is rude.”

“Oh, please,” he heard Nataliya sigh. “It’s quite alright. I shouldn’t have expected any different.”

There was something bubbling up in Yuri’s stomach, something bitter and burning and acid. How did she dare show up, demand attention and now act like a martyr for him not reacting, how dared she…

He turned around to find Nataliya smiling at him. Damn her. But still Yuri forced himself to take a closer look at her. She looked good, but for one a little fuller than he remembered her. Also, despite this she seemed just a little worn out, just a little worse for wear, just a hint of exhaustion, bags under her eyes that her careful make-up could not quite conceal from the trained eye of someone who worked with costumes and make-up for a living as much as he did.

He remembered her fur robe from last time. Now she was wearing a nice woollen coat, slim cut, good quality, but suspiciously off-the-rack looking. Same went for her pants. Denim. That was a remarkable shift from the calves-length dress she had worn last time they had met. In general she looked more un-dolled up than before, more like a regular person, more like a person who would have given a shit about anything.

Her eyes didn’t fit the look. They were still cool and smiling and ever watchful.

It took Yuri all he had to properly glare at her rather than just turn and leave. “What do you want?” he asked.

Nataliya still had the nerve to smile. “Nothing. Well, nothing but to say hello to my son, I am sure I am still allowed to do that?” God it was disturbing that he looked at her and then just would have to turn left to see the same mannerisms and gestures and the same flightiness, just less… worse.

He turned to the left.

Viktor was not smiling. Both he and Yuuri were staring at the woman as she came up to them, extending a hand. “Mr. Nikiforov, right? So glad to finally meet you in person! I am always happy to see you on TV, I am sure Yuri learns a lot from working at your side!”

Viktor took her hand. “Nataliya Plisetskaya, then?”

“Oh, please, not Nataliya Plisetskaya, I am not _that_ old! Nataliya is completely fine!” She fluttered her eyelashes at Viktor and Yuri wanted to vomit at the mere idea, the hint, the suggestion…

Viktor just smiled on.

Nataliya still held his hand as she turned her look to Yuuri, taking him in with one quick look. “And – oh, that Japanese skater you’re training, right?” she asked, still to Viktor.

Yuuri pulled the corners of his mouth upwards. “Yuuri Katsuki.” he sounded polite, even moderately friendly, very much like people might imagine a Japanese man to sound when greeting a total stranger, but Yuri noticed that Yuuri didn’t bow. Not even a hint. Not even the inclination of his head.

“The famed protégé,” Nataliya chirped.

“You pronounce wrong fiancé,” Yuuri answered dryly. “My Russian be better than yours, looks like.”

Alright, he _wanted_ to be rude. And by Yuuri-standards he was.

Yuri watched Nataliya look back and forth between them and her smile flickered a little. “Ah. Yes. Yes, of course. I remember. My bad.” Now she let go of Viktor’s hand but didn’t re-extend it to Yuuri.

Neither Yuuri nor Viktor seemed to care. Yuuri looked like he would have rejected her anyways and Viktor was outright beaming at this display of possessiveness.

It was reassuringly disgusting.

“Well. Nataliya Plisetskaya, just Nataliya for you,” she repeated. “The mother of this little rascal here.”

God, Yuri wanted to punch her. And still. She could have had the right to talk about him like that, she could...

“Yes,” Viktor’s beam reduced itself back to the polite, camera-ready smile Yuri knew from him. “Obviously and also already stated before.”

Yuri felt a hand on his right shoulder and then a gentle pull as Yuuri began to lead him away just a little, one step after the other.

“I suppose he is a bit of a trouble-maker?” Nataliya asked, smiling. “I hope he takes the opportunity to work hard and learn from you?”

“Oh, he is great to work with,” Viktor said in Yuri’s back. “And a good friend to us. Very young still, of course, but sometimes a lot more world-wise than his years. And it is very obvious he has been raised very well.”

“I certainly hope so,” Nataliya said. Yuri could hear the smile being forced out of her.

“You okay?” Yuuri whispered, in English now.

“I’ll be better when we’re away from her,” Yuri whispered back.

Yuuri nodded and turned around. “Vitya! Hungry! Dinner cooking?!”

Maybe he was turning up the accent a little.

“Ah, I see!” Viktor laughed. “Well. Nice to have met you, but we are just done with training and in dire need of food, relaxation and rest.”

“Oh, I know a lovely-”

“And we have already planned our night, sorry. Have a most wonderful night! I am pretty sure we will meet again!” Then he was to Yuri’s left and put an arm around him and never had Yuri been more grateful for him than now.

He was grateful enough that he would even have answered any question Viktor might ask.

But astonishingly, miraculously, Viktor didn’t ask even one question on the entire way back.

Yuuri opened his mouth but ultimately the only, the first thing he asked came while he was dicing the onions. “Not a good relationship?”

Not everyone was this lucky, Yuri wanted to say, not everyone had loving and supportive and adorable and adoring parents and a cool big sister and a select, chosen handful of friends, but – but that just wasn’t fair.

“Had me at fifteen, decided that dancing was more important and-” He breathed out. “I get that. I mean. Sports. Work. And all that. I get that.”

Viktor handed him the chicken and he began to dice it with far more vigor than strictly necessary, probably. “Don’t get why it ended up being my job to be the breadwinner after dedushka retired from his job, don’t get why she’s spent years without calling once in a while. And… and certainly,” Fuck these onions Yuuri had been chopping. “And certainly don’t get what she wants from me now.”

For a moment there was not a single sound in the room beside the sizzling of sesame oil in the wok as Yuuri threw in the onions, then the sharp, sweet scent of onions and curry powder being fried.

“Well. You could find out,” Yuuri suggested. “If you want to, that is.”

“If I want,” Yuri repeated, crossing his arms. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you will never know and either be happy with that or not until you do find out,” Viktor said.

“And then?” Yuri continued to ask, just because… because… because it was kind of – he didn’t even have the words.

“Then,” Viktor said, a finger and a smile on his lips in the same fashion Yuri knew and despised so much.

But still – but still. It was Viktor with the finger and the smile on his lips and doing the dramatic pause.

So Yuri listened. And when Viktor drew out the pause he even asked, “And then?”

“Then you decide what to do. It’s that simple.” He smiled. “And maybe inform her about it, but I will leave that up to you. Now, would you please set the table?”


	3. As Ice as familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho Ho Ho, God Yul to your all and happy holidays! (Yul was on Dec. 21st, but it's still holiday season, so it still counts)
> 
> This is the last part of the charity fanfic for Harley, so - I hope you enjoyed it and I hope the new year will bring us all both closure on things we need it and opportunities for a fresh start.

As Ice as familiar

 

It was up to him.

Viktor was right. (Not that he would ever tell him that.)

It was Yuri’s choice to ask dedushka for Nataliya’s phone number.

It was his choice to send her a text.  _ Starbucks. The one in the Nevsky Centre. The shopping mall, I think you should find it. Tomorrow at seven. _

The answer was, _ Looking forward to it. <3  _

Well, that was to be expected.

He had made his choice. And it was by this choice that he was there. It was his choice to order first a suspended coffee (because he was not an asshole) and himself a skinny caramel macchiato with extra drizzle (the little indulgences in life), take it and then sit down and while away his time by writing a short text to Otabek.  _ Wish me luck. Gotta talk to my mother rn _

Otabek’s text came right back. At least he was easy with telegram. 

_ My sympathies. Call me when you’re done, if you want, gonna stay up _ .

That was sweet. And unexpected. He had never mentioned her to him so far.

“Yuri!” Nataliya stood  before him, a cup in her hand that was topped with a tower of whipped cream high enough that it would have filled a second mug.

Yuri didn’t bother to get up. He just gestured to the spare chair at his table.

“I’m so glad that you wanted to talk after all, I mean, I can understand that you wanted to get home after training-”

Yuri breathed out. “I am not apologizing for that,” he said. “Just in case that’s what you’re angling for.”

Nataliya’s face fell just a little. She sat down and Yuri took a sip of his Caramel Macchiato. “Why are you here?” he then asked.

Nataliya smiled. “Wasn’t it you who suggested this?”

Urgh.

“Why are you in St. Petersburg? Why were you at the rink the other day?” Was that clear enough? God, Yuri dearly hoped so.

Nataliya took a sip from her cup. “Well. I am kind of in the middle of reorganizing my life. Restructuring it, if you will, orienting myself anew?”

“What?” Yuri raised an eyebrow. “That almost sounds like you quit dancing or something.”

For the first time Nataliya’s smile made way for an actual, honest human expression of – regret? Sadness? Yuri couldn’t tell.

“Well. I didn’t quit, strictly speaking,” she finally said, “I was quit.”

“What? Yuri stared at her. “You got fired?”

She shrugged. “Yes. There was a,,, well, let’s call it a conflict with the lead ballerina. And another one with the management.”

“Oh.” Well, he could have known about that if he had followed any ballet related news more closely, but she never had done that for him, so why should he? “Well. And now?”

Again Nataliya shrugged. “I don’t really know myself, to be honest. I think I try out for a few companies here in St. Petersburg. Maybe there’s still a chance, but well. You know the business. With thirty-two you’re practically a dinosaur. And...” She sighed deeply. “And otherwise I have no idea what to do.”

“You need money,” Yuri said.

Nataliya smiled an almost sheepish smile that almost looked like one of Viktor’s. Just slightly…off. “Well, bills don’t pay themselves, you know.”

“You earned quite well before,” Yuri remarked, remembering the fur robe.

“Gone,” she said.

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

Yuri tried for a moment to process it. He failed. “What?!”

“Wasn’t that much to begin with, to be honest,” she said.

Gone. Not that much. What?! Yuri knew that she had led an extravagant lifestyle, too extravagant to allow her to support her father or her son.

And now she needed money. Of course. What else could it have ever been?

“And you’re asking  _ me _ ?!”

At least Nataliya had the decency to look down and into her cup in something like embarrassment. “Well. Yes. I know, I shouldn’t as, I...” She wasn’t a very convincing actress.

It should have galled Yuri a lot more than it did. It didn’t make him feel anything. He was just-

\- seeing a chance.

“I’d have to check my account,” he said, “don’t know how much I could spare. I have to take care of grandpa first.”

Nataliya opened her mouth.

Yuri lowered his gaze. “And my conditions,” he mumbled, before she could say anything and he wished he had more backbone to his voice.

He heard Nataliya swallow. “Alright.”

“First,” he said and now his voice was in fact rather calm, hard even as he lifted his gaze again to meet hers. “You get support for half a year. After that you’re on your own, but by then you should have found something. And if I have an accident or can’t skate – no money. Got it?”

Nataliya didn’t seem too happy about this, but she nodded. “Of course.”

“Good. Also – you will not contact me.”

“What?” Natalja blinked. “But...”

“You will not call me. Nor write or text me – you know what, best lose my number entirely. Dunno about grandpa, he’ll tell you himself, I suppose.” He emptied his mug. “Well. That’s it. I’ll get your bank account data from grandpa. Bye!”

“But-”

But what? Yuri paused in his movement and looked her in the eyes. 

Funny thing was – if she had wished to reconnect, maybe – maybe he would – he would…

Nataliya still looked a little dumbfounded. But then the smile was back on, so how could Yuri ever know what was really going on in her mind?

“Well, if you say so,” she finally said, “it would be very rude to not go with it.”

“Indeed.” Yuri breathed out and then, slowly, started to get up again. “And… and...”

That too had to be taken care of.

“And also you will neither show up at the ice rink nor will you approach anyone of my friends and colleagues,” Yuri went on. It was enough that he had to deal with that. No need to have anyone else deal with that. (And he would never tell Viktor that he had just declared him his friend. Yuuri maybe. Viktor – never. Not if he wanted to keep his sanity.)

Nataliya’s face didn’t move.

“Exception might be Lilia. Lilia Baranowskaya,” Yuri finally said. “Maybe she can recommend you something or you to someone.” And she would never allow any unnecessary bullshit.

“Oh.” Nataliya rose from her chair. “That’s… thank… thank you.”

Yuri turned away when he saw that she was already lifting her arms. “Don’t,” he said and stepped away. “Just try and get your shit together for once!” Then he stomped past her and through the door and he didn’t even look back to her.

And he wasn’t even crying. Or if he was, at least there was nobody around to see or to care. 

With a deep breath he took out his phone.  _ Done now _ , he typed quickly,  _ was a chore _ .

He sent it and only a moment later Otabek replied,  _ Skype tonight _

That was good. Yuri managed another breath and it came out steadier than before.

His phone buzzed again and a text plopped up. Viktor this time.  _ Dinner is ready at seven. <3  _

Yes. Yes, he decided as he headed to the metro station, this was all he needed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this and thank you Harley for giving me the chance to work on this. I had a blast.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 2 and 3 will follow soon.


End file.
